OWN 
THE 
LINE 


Vlf 


.th  JOHN  HENRY 


m 

HUGH 
MCHUGH 


Take  a  satchel  and  the  ice- 
tongs  and  haul  it  away  !  " — Page 


OE  CALIF.  LIBRAHY,  LOS  AJiGSLES 

DOWN  THE   LINE 


BY    HUGH    McHUGH 
AUTHOR  OF  "JOHN  HENRY" 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  McKEE  BARCLAY. 


G.  W.  DILLINGHAM  CO. 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,  1901, 
BY  G.  VV.  DILLINGHAM  Co. 


All  rights  reserved 


Any  infringement   of  copyright  will   be  strictiy 
dealt  with  according  to  law- 


DOWN  THE  LINE 
WITH  JOHN  HENRY 


To:— 

Pete  and  the  Little  Man,  two  of  the  best 
ever — believe  me! 

John  Henry. 


2137145 


CONTENTS. 

JOHN  HENRY  AT  THE  RACES,       -       -  13 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  DRUMMERS,  29 

JOHN  HENRY  IN  BOHEMIA,  -       -       -  47 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  HOTEL  CLERK,  63 

JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  BENZINE  BUGGY,  77 

JOHN  HENRY  AT  THE  MUSICALE,         -  89 

JOHN  HENRY  PLAYS  GOLF,           -       -  99 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

••TAKE  A  SATCHEL  AND  THE  ICE-TONGS 
AND  HAUL  IT  AWAY." 

"A  BUNCH    OF    BRISK    BOYS  —  BELIEVE 
ME!" 

"  WHEN  CLARA  JANE  AROSE,  SHE  WAS  A 
MASS  OF  ICICLES  ! " 

"WE  GET  IT  GOOD  AND  PLENTY  EVERY 
DAY  ! "  SAID  STEVE. 

"FOR   A  CHASER   SHE  WORE   ONE   OF 
THOSE  FEATHER  BOAS." 

"HE  GATHERED  THE  GOURD  UP  UNDER 
His  CHIN." 

"JAKE    INVITED     HER    TO    JOIN    THE 
HUNTING  PARTY." 


JOHN  HENRY  AT  THE  RACES 


JOHN  HENRY  AT  THE  RACES. 

I    WAS  anxious  to  make  Clara  Jane 
think  that  she  was  all  the  money, 
so  I  boiled  out  a  few  plunks, 
trotted  over  to  the  trolley,  and  rushed 
her  to  the  race  track. 

I'm  a  dub  on  the  dope,  but  it  was 
my  play  to  be  a  Wise  Boy  among  the 
skates  on  this  particular  occasion,  and 
I  went  the  whole  distance. 

In  the  presence  of  my  lady  love  I 
knew  every  horse  that  ever  pulled  a 
harrow. 

Isn't  it  cruel  how  a  slob  will  cut  the 


14  JOHN    HENRY 

guy-ropes  and  go  up  in  the  air  just 
because  his  Baby  is  by  his  side  ? 

Me— to  the  mountain  tops  ! 

Before  the  car  got  started  I  was  tell 
ing  her  how  Pittsburg  Phil  and  I  win 
$18,000  last  summer  on  a  fried  fish 
they  called  "  Benzine." 

Then  I  confided  to  her  the  fact  that 
I  doped  a  turtle  named  "  Pink  Toes  " 
to  win  the  next  day,  but  he  went  over 
the  fence  after  a  loose  bunch  of  grass 
and  I  lose  $23,680. 

She  wanted  to  know  what  I  meant 
by  dope,  and  I  told  her  it  generally 
meant  a  sour  dream,  but  she  didn't 
seem  to  grab. 

When  we  got  to  the  track  they  were 
bunching  the  bones  for  the  first  race, 
so  I  told  Clara  Jane  I  thought  I'd 
crawl  down  to  the  ring  and  plaster  two 


AT   THE    RACES  15 

or  three  thousand  around  among  the 
needy. 

Two  or  three  thousand,  and  me  with 
nothing  but  a  five-spot  in  my  jeans  and 
the  return  ticket  money  in  that ! 

"  Are  you  really  going  to  bet?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Sure !  "  I  said ;  "  I've  got  a  pipe !  " 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  won't  smoke  it 
near  me.  I  hate  pipes !  "  she  said. 

"  All  right ;  I'll  take  my  pipe  down 
to  the  betting  ring  and  smoke  it 
there !  "  I  said,  and  we  parted  good 
friends. 

In  front  of  the  grand  stand  I  met 
Nash  Martinetti. 

He  was  holding  a  bunch  of  poppies 
and  he  picked  out  one  in  the  first  race 
and  handed  it  to  me. 


l6  JOHN    HENRY 

"A  skinch!"  said  Nash.  "Go  as 
far  as  you  like." 

Then  Ned  Rose  went  into  a  cata 
leptic  state  and  handed  me  the  win 
ner — by  a  block.  It  couldn't  go  wrong 
unless  it's  feet  fell  out. 

"  Here  you  are,  John  Henry,  the  real 
Pietro !  "  said  Ban  Roberts ;  "  play 
Pump  Handle  straight  and  place !  It's 
the  road  to  wealth — believe  me!  All 
the  others  are  behind  the  hill ! " 

Every  Breezy  Boy  I  met  had  a  dif 
ferent  hunch  and  they  called  me  into 
the  wharf  and  unloaded. 

I  figured  it  out  that  if  I  had  bet 
$5  on  each  good  thing  they  gave  me 
I  would  have  lost  $400,000. 

Then  I  ducked  under,  sopped  up  a 
stein  of  root  beer  and  climbed  up 
again  to  the  hurricane  deck. 


AT   THE  RACES  17 

"Did  you  bet?"  inquired  Clara 
Jane. 

"  Only  $730,"  I  said ;  "  A  mere  bag 
o'  shells." 

I  leave  a  call  for  7.30  every  morn 
ing  and  I  suppose  that's  the  reason  I 
was  so  swift  with  the  figures. 

"  My !  what  a  lot  of  money !  "  said 
the  Fair  One ;  "  do  point  out  the  horse 
you  bet  on !  I  shall  be  awfully  inter 
ested  in  this  race !  " 

Carlo !  you're  a  bad  dog — lie  down ! 

I  pointed  out  the  favorite  as  the  one 
I  had  my  bundle  on,  and  explained  to 
Clara  Jane  that  the  only  way  it  could 
lose  was  for  some  sore-head  to  get 
out  and  turn  the  track  around. 

Sure  enough  the  favorite  galloped 
into  port  and  dropped  anchor  six  hours 
ahead  of  the  other  clams. 


1 8  JOHN    HENRY 

I  win  over  $2,200 — conversation 
money — and  Bonnie  Brighteyes  was  in 
a  frenzy  of  delight. 

She  wanted  to  know  if  I  wasn't  go 
ing  to  be  awfully  careful  with  it  and 
save  it  up  for  a  rainy  day. 

I  told  her  yes,  but  I  expected  we'd 
have  a  storm  that  afternoon. 

I  had  a  nervous  chill  for  fear  she'd 
declare  herself  in  on  the  rake-off. 

But  she  didn't,  so  I  excused  myself 
and  backed  down  the  ladder  to  cash 
in. 

The  boys  were  all  out  in  the  inquest 
room  trying  to  find  out  what  killed 
the  dead  ones. 

Then  they  stopped  apologizing  to 
themselves  and  began  to  pick  things 
out  of  the  next  race  and  push  them 
up  their  sleeves. 


AT  THE  RACES  19 

I  ran  across  Harry  Maddy  and  he 
took  me  up  to  the  roof  with  a  line  of 
talk  about  a  horse  called  "Pretty  Boy" 
in  the  last  race. 

"  He'll  be  over  80  to  I  and  it's  a 
killing."  Harry  insisted.  "  Get  down 
to  the  bank  when  the  doors  open  and 
grab  all  you  can.  Take  a  satchel  and 
the  ice-tongs  and  haul  it  away." 

I  was  beginning  to  be  impressed. 

"  Put  a  fiver  on  Pretty  Boy,"  Harry 
continued,  "  and  you'll  find  yourself 
dropping  over  in  the  Pierp  Morgan 
class  before  sun  down." 

"This  may  be  a  real  Alexander,"  I 
said  to  myself. 

"  Pretty  Boy  can  stop  in  the  stretch 
to  do  a  song  and  dance  and  still  win  by 
a  bunch  of  houses,"  Harry  informed 
me. 


20  JOHN    HENRY 

I  began  to  think  hard. 

"  Don't  miss  it,"  said  Harry.  "  It's 
a  moral  that  if  you  play  him  you'll 
die  rich  and  disgraced,  like  our  friend 
Andy,  the  Hoot  Mon !  " 

When  I  got  back  to  the  stand  I  had 
a  preoccupied  air. 

The  five-spot  in  my  jeans  was  crawl 
ing  around  and  begging  for  a  change 
of  scene. 

When  Clara  Jane  asked  me  how 
much  I  had  bet  on  the  race  just  about 
to  start  I  could  only  think  of  $900. 

When  she  wanted  to  know  which 
horse  I  pointed  my  finger  at  every  toad 
on  the  track  and  said  "that  one  over 
there !  " 

It  won. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  race  I  was 
$19,218  to  the  good. 


AT   THE   RACES  21 

Clara  Jane  had  it  down  in  black  and 
white  on  the  back  of  an  envelope  in 
figures  that  couldn't  lie. 

She  said  she  was  very  proud  of  me, 
and  that's  where  my  finish  bowed  po 
litely  and  stood  waiting. 

She  told  me  that  it  was  really  very 
wrong  to  bet  any  more  after  such  a 
run  of  luck,  and  made  me  promise 
that  I  wouldn't  wring  another  dollar 
from  the  trembling  hands  of  the  poor 
Bookmakers. 

I  promised,  but  she  didn't  notice 
that  I  had  my  fingers  crossed. 

I  simply  had  to  have  a  roll  to  flash 
on  the  way  home,  so  I  took  my  lonely 
V  and  went  out  into  the  Promised 
Land  after  the  nuggets  Maddy  had  put 
me  wise  to. 


22  JOHN    HENRY 

"  It  will  be  just  like  getting  money 
from  Uncle  Peter,"  I  figured. 

"A  small  steak  from  Pretty  Boy," 
I  said  to  Wise  Samuel,  the  Book 
maker;  "  what's  doing?  " 

Wise  Samuel  gave  me  the  gay  look- 
over. 

"  Take  the  ferry  for  Sioux  Falls !  " 
he  said. 

"  Nix  on  the  smart  talk,  Sammy !  " 
I  said ;  "  Me  for  the  Pretty  Boy !  How 
much?" 

"  A  bundle  for  a  bite — you're  on  a 
cold  plate !  "  whispered  Wise  Samuel, 
but  he  couldn't  throw  me. 

"  I  don't  see  any  derricks  to  hoist 
the  price  with,"  I  tapped  him. 

"  Write  your  own  ticket,  then  you 
to  the  woods !  "  said  Sammy. 

In  a  minute  my  fiver  was  up  and  I 


AT   THE   RACES  23 

was  on  the  card  to  win  $500  when  my 
cute  one  came  romping  home. 

I  went  back  to  Clara  Jane  satisfied 
that  in  a  few  minutes  I'd  have  a  roll 
big  enough  to  choke  the  tunnel. 

"  Not  having  any  money  on  this 
race  you  can  watch  it  without  the  least 
excitement,  can't  you?"  she  said. 

I  said  yes,  and  all  the  while  I  was 
scrapping  with  a  lump  in  my  throat 
the  size  of  my  fist. 

When  the  horses  got  away  with 
Pretty  Boy  in  front  I  started  in  to 
stand  on  my  head,  but  changed  my 
mind  and  swallowed  half  the  pro 
gram. 

Pretty  Boy  at  the  quarter!  Me  for 
Rector's  till  they  put  the  shutters  up! 

Pretty  Boy  at  the  half!    Me  down 


24  JOHN    HENRY 

to  Tiffany's  in  the  morning  dragging 
tiaras  away  in  a  dray ! 

Pretty  Boy  at  the  three-quarter  pole ! 
Me  doing  the  free  library  gag  all  over 
the  place ! 

But  just  as  they  came  in  the  stretch 
Pretty  Boy  forgot  something  and  went 
back  after  it. 

The  roach  quit  me  cold  at  the  very 
door  of  the  safety  deposit  vaults. 

I  was  under  the  water  a  long  time. 

Finally  I  heard  Clara  Jane  saying, 
"  Isn't  it  lucky  you  didn't  bet  on  this 
race.  I  believe  you  would  have  picked 
that  foolish  looking  horse  that  stopped 
over  there  to  bite  the  fence !  " 

"  I'm  done !  turn  me  over !  "  I  mur 
mured,  and  then  I  rushed  down  among 
the  ramblers  and  made  a  swift  touch 
for  the  price  of  a  couple  of  rides  home. 


AT    THE    RACES  25 

On  the  way  back  Clara  Jane  made 
me  promise  again  that  I'd  be  awfully, 
awfully  careful  of  my  $19,218. 

I  promised  her  I  would. 


JOHN    HENRY 
WITH    THE    DRUMMERS. 


A  bunch  of  brisk  boys — 
believe  me  !  " — Page  29. 


JOHN  HENRY  WITH  THE 
DRUMMERS. 

IT  was  a  swift  squad  of  sports  that 
climbed  into  a  coach  and  al 
lowed  themselves  to  be  yanked 
over  the  rails  in  the  direction  of  Chica 
go  one  morning  last  week. 
A  bunch  of  brisk  boys — believe  me ! 
Nick  Dalrymple,  Tod  Stone,   Slim 
Barnes — say !  do  you  remember  Slim  ? 
Travels  for  a  clothing  house  in  Cin 
cinnati  and  they  call  him  Slim  because 
he's  so  fat  that  every  time  he  turns 
around  he  meets  himself  coming  back. 


30  JOHN    HENRY 

He's  all  to  the  good — that  boy  is ! 

And  such  a  cut-up ! 

Slim  knows  more  "look-out! — 
there's  -  a  -  lady  -  over  -  there !"  stories 
than  any  other  drummer  in  the  busi 
ness. 

Nick  goes  after  the  gilt  things  for  a 
hardware  house  in  Columbus  and  he 
knows  everybody  in  the  world — bar  no 
one  living. 

Nick  has  only  one  trouble,  he  will 
paddle  after  the  ponies. 

Whenever  he  makes  a  town  where 
there's  a  pool  room  his  expense  ac 
count  gets  fat  and  beefy,  and  Nick  be 
gins  to  worry  for  fear  he  may  win 
something. 

He  won  $12  in  Cleveland  once  and 
he  spent  $218  at  a  boozeologist's  that 


WITH   THE   DRUMMERS  31 

night  getting  statistics  on  how  it  hap 
pened. 

Tod  Stone  cuts  ice  for  a  match  fac 
tory  in  Newark  and  he's  the  life  of 
a  small  party. 

Tod's  main  hold  is  to  creep  into  the 
"reading  room  "  of  a  Rube  hotel  after 
the  chores  are  done  of  an  evening  and 
throw  salve  at  the  come-ons. 

Tod  tells  them  that  their  town  is 
the  brightest  spot  on  the  map  and  they 
warm  up  to  him  and  want  to  buy  him 
sarsaparilla  and  root  beer. 

Then  when  he  gets  them  stuck  on 
themselves  he  sells  them  matches. 

"  Pipe  the  gang  to  quarters  and  all 
rubber !  "  said  Slim,  about  half  an  hour 
after  the  train  pulled  out. 

In  the  seat  ahead  of  us  a  somewhat 
demure  looking  Proposition  in  rain- 


32  JOHN    HENRY 

bow  rags  had  been  sampling  the  scen 
ery  ever  since  we  started. 

We  had  all  given  her  the  glad  glance 
but  she  was  very  much  Cold  Storage, 
so  we  passed  it  up. 

As  Slim  spoke,  the  Proposition  was 
joined  by  a  young  chap  with  a  loose 
face  who  had  been  out  in  the  smoking 
room  working  faithfully  on  one  of 
those  pajama  panatella  cigars  that  bite 
you  on  the  ringer  if  you  show  the  least 
sign  of  fear. 

Just  then  the  train  stopped  for  a  few 
minutes  and  we  were  put  wise  to  the 
fact  that  it  was  an  incurable  case  of 
bride  and  groom. 

"  Oh !  Boozey  is  back  to  his 
Birdie !  "  said  the  brand  new  wife ; 
"  did  Boozey  like  his  smoky  woky  ?  " 

Boozey  opened  a  bunch  of  grins  and 


WITH   THE   DRUMMERS  33 

sat  down  while  wifey  patted  his  cheek 
and  cooed : 

"  Is  urns  glad  to  get  back  to  urns 
'ittle  wifey-pifey?  " 

Nick  Dalrymple  and  Tod  Stone  be 
gan  to  scream  inwardly  and  Slim  was 
chuckling  like  a  pet  porpoise. 

"  Sweetie  mustn't  be  angry  with 
Petie,  but  Sweetie  is  sitting  on  Petie's 
'ittle  hand !  "  said  the  bride,  whereup 
on  Tod  exploded  and  Slim  began  to 
grab  for  his  breath. 

A  Dutch  brewer  and  his  wife  sat 
right  ahead  of  Boozey  and  Birdie  and 
every  once  in  a  while  the  old  hop 
puncher  would  turn  around  and  beam 
benignly  over  the  gold  rims  at  the 
bride. 

"  Boozie  must  snuggy-wuggy  up 
closer  to  his  Coozie  and  skeeze  her 


34  JOHN   HENRY 

'itty  arm — no,  no,  not  her  waist !  you 
naughty !  naughty !  " 

The  brewer  was  back  at  the  bride 
with  another  gold-rimmed  goo-goo 
when  his  wife  got  nervous  and  cut 
in: 

"  Is  id  you  turn  your  face  to  see 
someding — yes  ?  "  she  snapped,  and 
the  foam  builder  ducked  to  the  window 
and  began  to  eat  scenery. 

Dalrymple  was  almost  out ;  Tod  was 
under  the  seat  sparring  for  wind ;  Slim 
was  giving  an  imitation  of  a  coal- 
barge  in  a  heavy  sea,  and  the  rest  of 
the  passengers  were  in  various  stages 
from  hiccoughs  to  convulsions. 

"  Is  Boozey  comfy  wif  his  'itty 
weeny  teeny  Birdie?"  chirped  the 
bride. 

"  Boozey  is  so  happy  wif  his  izzy — 


WITH   THE   DRUMMERS  35 

wizzy  !  "  gurgled  the  husband ;  "  how's 
my  'ittle  girley  wirly  ?  " 

"  Oh !  she's  such  a  happy  wappy 
'ittle  fing !  "  giggled  the  dotty  dame, 
pinching  her  piggie's  ear,  whereupon 
the  brewer  tried  to  hand  the  bride  an 
other  gasoline  gaze,  but  the  old  lady 
caught  him  with  the  goods : 

"  Is  id  to  my  face  you  go  behind  my 
back  to  make  googley-googley  eyes 
ad  somevun — yes  ?  "  she  growled,  and 
in  a  minute  the  brewer's  brow  was 
busy  with  the  window  pane. 

"  Sweetie  looks  at  Petie  and  Sweetie 
sees  that  Petie's  p'etty  face  is  getting 
sunburned,  so  it  is !  "  cuckooed  Mrs. 
Daffy ;  "  and  Sweetie  has  a  dood  mind 
to  tiss  him,  too !  " 

They  opened  a  newspaper,  crawled 


36  JOHN    HENRY 

under  cover  and  began  to  bite  each 
other  on  the  chin. 

"  Go  as  far  as  you  like !  "  said  Slim, 
then  he  went  down  and  out. 

The  man  who  helped  to  make 
Weehawken  famous  had  his  head  out 
the  window  watching  for  an  ice- 
wagon,  and  Mrs.  Brewer  was  indus 
triously  muttering  "  Du  bist  ein  Narr 
Du  bist  ein  Narr !  " 

Just  then  the  train  pulled  out  and 
saved  out  lives. 

Nick,  Tod,  Slim  and  I  went  over 
near  the  water-cooler  to  rest  up,  and 
in  a  minute  the  three  of  them  were 
fanning  each  other  with  fairy  tales 
about  the  goods  they  sold. 

I'll  back  these  three  boys  to  dream 
longer  than  any  other  drummers  on 
the  track. 


WITH    THE   DRUMMERS  37 

It's  a  pipe  that  they  can  sell  bills  to 
each  other  all  day  and  never  wake 
up. 

Slim  turned  the  gas  on  to  the  limit 
about  hypnotizing  a  John  Wanamaker 
merchant  prince  in  Pikesville,  Indi 
ana,  to  the  extent  of  $200  for  open 
work  socks,  farmer's  size,  and  Todd 
Stone  sent  his  balloon  up  by  telling  us 
how  he  sold  the  Siegel-Coopers  of 
Bngsport,  Iowa,  $300  worth  of  Pana 
ma  hats  for  horses. 

The  Hot  Air  Association  was  in  full 
session  when  Buck  Jones  caromed 
over  from  the  other  end  of  the  car  and 
weighed-in  with  us. 

Buck  is  a  sweller. 

He  thinks  he  strikes  twelve  on  all 
occasions,  but  his  clock  is  all  to  the 
bad. 


38  JOHN    HENRY 

Buck  isn't  a  drummer — nay!  nay! 
take  back  your  gold ! 

He'll  look  you  straight  in  the  eye 
and  tell  you  he's  a  travelling  salesman 
— nix  on  the  drummer ! 

I  think  Buck  sells  canned  shirt 
waists  for  the  Shine  Brothers. 

Buck's  wife  and  a  three-year-old 
were  traveling  with  him,  but  he  wasn't 
giving  it  out  through  a  megaphone. 

Buck  is  one  of  those  goose-headed 
guys  who  begin  to  scratch  gravel  and 
start  in  to  make  a  killing  every  time 
they  see  a  pretty  girl. 

Across  the  aisle  sat  two  pet  canaries 
from  Plainfield,  New  Jersey. 

They  were  members  of  the  Sou- 
brette  Stinging  Society  and  they  were 
en  route  to  the  West  to  join  the 


WITH    THE   DRUMMERS  39 

"  Bunch  of  Birds  Burlesque  Com 
pany." 

Their  names  were  Millie  and  Tillie 
and  they  wore  Florodora  hats  and  did 
a  sister  act  that  contained  more  bad 
grammar  than  an  East  Side  pinochle 
game. 

Millie  was  fully  aware  that  she 
could  back  Duse  off  the  map,  and  Til- 
lie  was  ready  to  bet  a  week's  salary 
that  she  could  make  Bernhardt  feel 
like  she  was  out  in  the  storm  we  had 
day  before  yesterday. 

Slim  called  them  the  Roast-Beef 
Sisters,  Rare  and  Well-done. 

In  a  minute  the  castors  on  Buck's 
neck  began  to  turn. 

Slim  put  us  wise  with  a  wink  so 
we  lit  the  fire  and  began  to  cook  it  up. 


40  JOHN    HENRY 

Buck's  heart  was  warming  for  the 
birds  in  the  gilded  cage. 

"  The  real  Kibo !  "  said  Slim ;  "  it's 
a  plain  case  of  Appomattox;  the  war 
is  over  and  they  are  yours,  Buck !  " 

Buck  turned  a  few  more  volts  into 
his  twinkling  lamps. 

"  Lower  your  mainsail,  Buck,  and 
drop  alongside ;  you've  made  the  land 
ing,"  suggested  Nick. 

Buck  began  to  feel  his  necktie  and 
play  patty-cake  with  the  little  bald 
spot  on  the  top  of  his  head. 

"  Stop  the  hansom  and  get  out ; 
you're  at  your  corner,"  said  Tod. 

The  Sweet  Dreams  across  the  way 
were  giving  Buck  the  glorious  eye-roll 
and  he  felt  that  dinner  \vas  ready. 

"  Hang    up    your    hat,    Buck,    and 


WITH    THE    DRUMMERS  4! 

gather  the  myrtle  with  Mary !  "  I 
chipped  in. 

Then  Buck  bounced  over  and  began 
to  show  Millie  and  Tillie  what  a  hand 
some  brute  he  was  at  close  quarters. 

He  sat  on  the  arm  of  the  seat  and 
steamed  up. 

In  less  than  a  minute  he  crowded 
the  information  on  them  that  he  was  a 
millionaire  who  had  escaped  from  Los 
Angeles,  Cal.,  and  he  was  just  going 
to  put  them  both  in  grand  opera  when 
his  three-year-old  toddled  down  the 
aisle  and  grabbed  him  by  the  coat  tail: 

"  Papa !  Mama  wants  'oo  to  det  my 
bottle  of  milk !  " 

"  Stung !  "  .shrieked  Slim. 

"  Back  to  the  nursery !  "  howled 
Tod,  and  then  as  Buck  crawled  away 
to  home  and  mother  we  let  out  a  yell 


42  JOHN    HENRY 

that  caused  the  conductor  to  think  the 
train  had  struck  a  Wild  West  show. 

During  the  rest  of  the  trip  Buck 
was  nailed  to  his  seat. 

Every  time  he  tried  to  use  the  elastic 
in  his  neck  the  wife  would  burn  him 
with  a  hard,  cold  glitter. 

The  Roast-Beef  Sisters  seemed  to  be 
all  carved  up  about  something  or 
other. 

We  were  back  to  the  shop  selling 
things  again  when  Sledgeheimer  flut 
tered  down  among  us. 

The  boys  call  him  putty  because  he's 
the  next  thing  to  a  pane. 

He's  such  a  stingy  loosener  that  he 
looks  at  you  with  one  eye  so's  not  to 
waste  the  other. 

If  you  ask  Sledgeheimer  what  time 


WITH    THE   DRUMMERS  43 

it  is  he  takes  off  four  minutes  as  his 
commission  for  telling  you. 

"  Barnes,"  said  Sledgeheimer.  "do 
you  smoke  ?  " 

It  was  a  knock-out. 

In  the  annals  of  the  road  no  one 
could  look  back  to  the  proud  day  when 
Sledgeheimer  had  coughed. 

Once,  so  the  legend  runs,  he  gave 
a  porter  a  nickel,  but  it  was  after 
wards  discovered  that  Sledgeheimer 
was  asleep  and  not  responsible  at  the 
time,  so  the  porter  gave  it  back. 

Sledgeheimer  tried  to  collect  three 
cents  interest  for  the  time  the  porter 
kept  the  nickel,  and  the  conductor  had 
to  punch  his  mileage  and  his  nose  be 
fore  he'd  let  go. 

And  now  Sledgeheimer  had  asked 
Barnes  if  he  smoked. 


44  JOHN    HENRY 

Slim  was  pale  but  game. 

"  Sometimes  !  "  he  answered. 

"  Do  you  like  a  goot  seegar  ? " 
queried  Sledgeheimer. 

We  looked  for  the  engine  to  hit  a 
cow  any  minute  now. 

"  Sure !  "  said  Slim,  weak  all  over. 

"Veil,"  said  Sledgeheimer,  "here 
is  my  brudder-in-law's  card.  He 
makes  dot  Grass  Vidow  seegar  on 
Sigsth  Afenue.  Gif  him  a  call  und 
mention  my  name.  He  vill  be  glat  to 
see  you,  yet." 

Then  Sledgeheimer  went  away  back 
and  sat  down. 

,     The  laugh  was  on  Slim  so  he  got 
busy  with  the  button. 


JOHN   HENRY    IN    BOHEMIA 


JOHN  HENRY  IN  BOHEMIA. 

OYS  !  let  me  put  you  wise !    If 
you   want   to   keep    of?   the 
griddle    don't    ever    try    to 
show  your  shy  little  lady  friend  how 
the  birdies  sing  in  "  Bohemia." 
You'll  get  stung  if  you  do. 
For  the  past  six  months  Clara  Jane 
has  been  handing  out  hints  that  she'd 
like  to  have  me  take  her  down  the  line 
and  let  her  Oh,  listen  to  the  band !  in 
one  of  those  real  devilish  New  York 
restaurants. 

She  intimated  that  she'd  like  to  sit 
in  the  grand  stand  and  hold  the  watch 


48  JOHN    HENRY 

on  those  who  are  going  the  pace  that 
kills. 

She  wanted  to  know  if  I  thought 
she  could  toy  with  a  tenderloin  steak 
in  a  careless  cafe  without  getting  the 
call  down  from  Uncle  William. 

Clara  Jane's  Uncle  William  hands 
out  the  lesson  leaflets  in  Sunday 
school  and  wrestles  the  Golden  Rule 
to  a  finish  every  Sabbath. 

During  the  week  he  conducts  a  fire 
sale. 


she  was  pleased. 

"  I'm  just  crazy  to  take  lunch,  some 
time,  among  the  Bohemians ! "  she 
gurgled. 

I  told  her  I  though  she'd  have  a 
happier  time  if  we  tramped  down  to 
the  tunnel  and  butted  in  among  the 


IN    BOHEMIA  49 

Italians  just  as  the  twelve  o'clock 
whistle  blew,  and  she  threw  both 
lamps  at  me  good  and  hard. 

Clara  Jane  spent  the  summer  once 
at  Sag  Harbor  and  she's  been  a  sub 
scriber  for  The  Young  Ladies'  Home 
Companion,  but  outside  of  these  her 
young  life  has  been  devoid  of  excite 
ment. 

A  few  days  ago  I  took  her  to  the 
matinee  at  "  The  New  York  "  where 
you  have  to  pinch  off  only  50  cents  and 
then  you're  entitled  to  slosh  around  in 
parlor  furniture  and  eat  up  about  $8 
worth  of  comedy. 

That  "New  York"  thing  is  immense 
— believe  me ! 

Everything  else  has  faded  away. 

After  the  show  we  thought  we'd  pat 


50  JOHN    HENRY 

the  pave  for  a  few  blocks  and  who 
should  we  run  into  but  Bud  Phillips. 

Bud  belongs  to  the  Grand  Lodge  of 
Good  Fellows. 

So  far  as  I  can  size  him  up  the 
Good  Fellow  puts  in  twelve  hours  a 
day  trying  to  stab  himself  to  death 
with  gin  rickeys,  and  the  other  twelve 
are  devoted  to  yelling  for  help  and  ice- 
water. 

This  is  not  a  tap  on  the  door.  Nix 
on  the  knock. 

It  isn't  my  cue  to  aim  the  hammer. 

When  it  comes  to  falling  off  the 
water  wagon  I  can  do  a  bit  of  a 
specialty  in  grand  and  lofty  tumbling 
that  gets  a  loud  hand  from  all  the 
members  of  the  High  Tide  Associa 
tion.  So  nix  on  the  knock. 

His    father  cut  out   the   breathing 


IN    BOHEMIA  51 

business  about  two  years  ago  and  left 
Bud  $100,000  and  a  long  dry  spell  on 
the  inside. 

Bud  has  been  in  the  lake  ever  since. 

"As  you  were!  "said  Bud.  "Why, 
it's  John  Henry !  touch  thumbs,  old 
pal  ?  "  and  then  in  a  side  speech  he 
wanted  to  know  what  troupe  the  sou- 
brette  wa's  cutting-up  with. 

If  Clara  Jane  had  heard  him  my 
finish  would  have  hopped  over  the 
fence  then  and  there. 

But  she  didn't,  so  I  introduced  them 
and  quietly  tipped  Bud  off  to  the  fact 
that  it  will  be  a  case  of  wedding  bells 
when  Willie  gets  a  wad — be  nice !  be 
nice! 

And  Bud  woke  up  to  the  occasion. 

"  You   to  the   carryall !  "   he    said. 


52  JOHN   HENRY 

"  I'll  float  you  down  to  Muttheimer's 
and  we'll  get  busy  with  the  beans !  " 

"  He's  out  to  cough  for  a  few  cook 
ies,"  I  explained  to  Clara  Jane. 

"  I  never  heard  of  Muttheimer's  be 
fore,"  said  Clara  Jane,  on  the  side. 

"  You  luck  has  given  you  a  thrown- 
down,"  I  said. 

"  But  I  do  hope  it's  Bohemian,"  she 
sighed. 

"  Sure !  "  I  said.  I  hated  to  break 
her  heart. 

Muttheimer's  is  one  of  those  eateries 
where  the  waiters  look  wi'se  because 
they  can't  speak  English. 

If  you  ask  them  a  question  they  bark 
at  you  in  German. 

It's  supposed  to  be  Bohemian  be 
cause  there's  sawdust  on  the  floor  and 
the  flies  wear  pajamas  and  -say  "Pro- 


IN    BOHEMIA  53 

sit !  "  before  falling  in  the  stuff  that 
you  swallow  to-day  and  taste  to-mor 
row. 

Bud  bunches  his  hits  on  the  bell  and 
the  low-forehead  has  a  Fitzsimmons 
hug  on  the  order  when  Ikey  Mincen- 
pizetrstein  crawls  into  the  harbor  and 
drops  anchor  at  our  table. 

I  don't  know  how  Ikey  ever 
pressed  close  enough  to  get  on  Bud's 
staff. 

Ikey  is  a  lazy  loosener. 

When  the  waiter  deals  out  the  check 
Ikey  is  the  busiest  talker  in  the  bunch. 

Whenever  he  passes  a  bank  he  takes 
off  his  hat  and  wralks  on  his  toes. 

He's  the  sort  of  a  Sim  Dempsey 
who  sheds  in-growing  tears  every 
time  anybody  spends  money  in  his 
neighborhood. 


54  JOHN    HENRY 

He  hates  to  see  it  wasted,  and  that's 
why  his  whiskers  peep  out  of  his  face 
and  worry  the  wind. 

But,  then,  a  Good  Fellow  doesn't 
have  to  go  to  sea  to  gather  barnacles. 

I  spoke  hrs  name  fast  when  I  intro 
duced  Ikey  to  Clara  Jane  but  she  was 
busy  trying  to  live  a  swift  life  by  or 
dering  a  seltzer  lemonade,  so  it  didn't 
make  much  difference,  anyway. 

"  What  is  he  ?  "  she  whispered  after 
a  bit,  "  a  painter  ?  " 

"  Oh !  he's  a  painter  all  right,"  I 
said.  "  When  some  one  leads  him  up 
to  a  tub." 

"  Water-colors  or  oil  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oil,"  I  said ;  "Fusel  oil." 

"  Has  he  ever  done  any  good 
thing?  "  said  she. 

"Yes,"  I  said;  "Bud  Phillips." 


IN   BOHEMIA  55 

"Oh,  I'm  enjoying  this  so  much! 
Who  is  the  man  with  the  fawn-like 
eyes  and  the  long  hair  at  that  other 
table?"  she  whispered. 

He  was  the  night-watchman  of  the 
apartment  house  next  door  but  I  gave 
her  an  easy  speech  to  the  effect  that 
he  was  Bill  Beethoven,  a  grandson  of 
old  man  Beethoven  who  wrote  the 
wedding  march  and  "  Mah  Rainbow 
Coon"  and  "Father  Was  a  Gentleman 
When  Mother  Wa's  Not  Near  "  and 
several  other  gems. 

She  thought  she  was  in  Bohemia 
and  having  the  time  of  her  life,  so  I 
let  her  dream. 

In  the  meantime  Budd  was  busy  try 
ing  to  put  out  the  fire  in  the  well 
Ikey  used  for  a  neck. 

Every  time  a  waiter  looked  over  at 


56  JOHN    HENRY 

out  table  Bud's  roll  would  blaze  up. 

Clara  Jane  concluded  she'd  broaden 
out  a  bit  on  Art  and  the  Old  Masters 
so  she  asked  Ikey  if  he  liked  Rem 
brandt. 

Ikey  looked  at  her  out  of  the  cor 
ner  of  one  eye  and  said,  "  Much 
'bliged,  but  I'm  up  to  here  now !  " 

Then  he  went  to  sleep. 

Bud  was  beginning  to  see  double. 
Every  once  in  a  while  he'd  stop  trying 
to  whistle  "  Sallie,  My  Hot  Tamale," 
and  he'd  look  over  at  Clara  Jane  and 
hand  her  a  sad,  sad  smile. 

Then  he'd  press  money  in  the  wait 
er's  hand  and  wait  for  hi's  music  cue. 

Clara  Jane  had  about  decided  that 
Bohemia  was  away  up  stage,  but  I 
wouldn't  let  go.  I  wanted  her  to 


IN    BOHEMIA  57 

get  the  lesson  of  her  life,  and  that's 
where  my  finish  began  to  get  busy. 

Tom  Barclay  waltzed  into  the  sub 
way,  saw  me  and  in  a  minute  he  was 
making  the  break  of  his  life. 

"Why,  hello,  John  Henry!"  said 
Tom,  "  say,  I  saw  her  to-day — and 
she's  immense!  You've  got  a  great 
eye,  old  man !  " 

I  tossed  off  a  few  wicked  winks  on 
that  great  eye  of  mine  but  Tom  went 
right  along  to  the  funeral. 

"  Lizzie  B.  is  a  peach,  John  Henry ! 
You've  got  the  eye  for  the  good  girls, 
all  right,  all  right !  "  he  chortled. 

Clara  Jane  began  to  freeze. 

I  felt  like  a  boiled  potato  in  the 
hands  of  an  Irish  policeman. 

"  She's  every  bit  to  the  good,  old 
man !  "  Tom  turned  it  on  again  ;  "  she 


58  JOHN    HENRY 

makes  all  the  other  birds  chatter  in  the 
cage.  And  her  feet — did  you  ever  'see 
such  feet  ?  " 

I  looked  at  Clara  Jane's  face,  but 
there  was  no  light  in  the  window  for 
me. 

"  You  certainly  picked  out  a  warm 
proposition  when  you  put  your  arms 
around  Lizzie  B.  and  I'm  your  friend 
for  life  for  hauling  me  up  in  the  char 
iot  with  you — what'll  you  have  ?  " 
croaked  Tom. 

"  Thirty-two  bars  rest,"  I  whispered 
hoarsely ;  "  cut  it  all  out !  " 

"  Cut  out  nothing !  "  said  the  prize 
idiot;  "We'll  drink  to  Lizzie  B. 
What'll  your  lady  friend  have?" 

When  Clara  Jane  arose  she  was  a 
ma'ss  of  icicles. 

"  Mr.  John  Henry !    will  you  have 


She  was  a  mass  of  icicles 
when  she  arose/' — Page  58. 


IN    BOHEMIA  59 

the  kindness  to  escort  me  to  a  car?  " 
she  said,  giving  me  the  glittering  gig- 
lamps,  "  then  you  may  return  and  dis 
cuss  your  affairs  of  the  heart  at  your 
leisure." 

"  Stung !  "  said  Bud,  bringing  his 
hand  down  on  the  table  so  vigorously 
that  Ikey  woke  up  and  ordered  an 
other  high-ball. 

Me — to  the  Badlands!  It  took  me 
three  mortal  hours  to  convince  her  that 
Tom  was  only  talking  about  a  horse. 

Hereafter  when  Clara  Jane  yearns 
for  something  swift  I'll  take  her  down 
and  let  her  watch  the  trolley  cars  go 
by. 


JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  HOTEL 
CLERK. 

KEE  BARCLAY,  Jim  Wilkin 
son  and  I  were  leaning  over 
the  counter  talking  to  His 
Nobs,  the  Hotel  Clerk,  when  Dan  the 
Dyspeptic  squeezed  up  and  began  to 
let  a  peep  out  of  him  about  the  pie  he 
had  eaten  for  dinner. 

"  Calm    yourself ! "     said    Smiling 

Steve,  "  and  tell  me  where  it  bit  you." 

Steve  has  been   throwing  keys   at 

the  wall  for  some  time,  and  he  knows 

how  to  burn  the  beefers. 

"  Bit  me !  bit  me !  "  snarled  the  old 


66  JOHN   HENRY 

Drummer,  hopped  into  the  ring  for  the 
next  round. 

Willie  peddles  pickles  for  the  fun 
he  gets  of  it. 

It  is  Willie's  joy  and  delight  to  get 
a  ginger  ale  bun  on  and  recite  "  'Ostler 
Joe." 

When  trained  down  to  95  flat  Willie 
can  get  up  and  beat  the  clapper  off 
"  Curfew  Shall  Not  Ring  To-night." 

When  Willie  gets  a  strangle  hold 
on  "  Sheridan's  Ride  "  you  can  hear 
horses  galloping  outside. 

It's  the  rest  of  the  community  get 
ting  out  of  harm's  way. 

"  Any  mail  ?  "  inquired  Willie. 

All  the  mail  that  Willie  ever  gets 
is  a  postal  card  from  the  pickle  factory 
every  two  weeks  asking  him  if  the 


AND    THE    HOTEL    CLERK  6^ 

people  along  his  route  have  all  lost 
their  appetites. 

"  No  literature  for  you,"  Steve  an 
swered. 

"Strange,"  said  Willie,  "my  lady 
friends  are  very  remiss,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  looks  like  they  were  out 
to  drop  you  behind  the  piano,"  said 
Steve. 

Willie  tore  off  a  short  rabbit  laugh 
and  then  inquired  what  time  the  next 
train  left  for  New  York. 

The  pickle  factory  expects  Willie  to 
make  Pocomoke  City,  Squashtown 
Junction  and  Nubbinsville  before  next 
Sunday,  so  he  tossed  the  train  gag 
out  just  to  show  Steve  that  he  knows 
there's  a  place  called  New  York. 

"  At  7.45  over  the  D.  L.  &  O.,"  said 
Steve. 


68  JOHN    HENRY 

"What's  the  next?"  inquired  Wil 
lie. 

"At  8.10  over  the  H.  B.  &  N.," 
Steve  answered. 

"Which  gets  there  first?"  Willie 
asked. 

"  The  engineer,"  sighed  Steve. 

"  Oh,  you  droll  chap !  "  said  the 
pickle  pusher ;  "  give  me  some  tooth 
picks." 

Then  Sweet  William  went  over  to 
the  big  window,  burrowed  into  a  chair, 
stuck  his  feet  up  on  the  brass  rail,  ate 
toothpicks  and  thought  he  was  IT. 

When  I  got  back  to  Steve  he  was 
dealing  out  the  cards  to  a  lady  from 
Reading,  Pa.,  and  Kee  and  Jim  had 

ducked  to  the  billiard  room. 

j> 

Her  husband  had  been  up  in  the  air 
with  a  bum  automobile  and  when  he 


AND   THE   HOTEL   CLERK  69 

came  down  he  was  several  sections 
shy. 

They  found  a  monkey  wrench  im 
bedded  in  his  left  shoulder  which  he 
couldn't  remember  using  when  he 
tried  to  fix  the  machine. 

She  was  traveling  for  his  health. 

"  My  room  is  too  near  the  elevator," 
she  informed  Steve. 

"  I  can  give  you  a  very  nice  room 
on  the  third  floor — Front!  show  the 
lady " 

"  Same  size  room  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Madam." 

"Same  colored  carpet  on  the  floor?  " 

"  I  believe  it  has — Front !  show  the 
lady " 

"  Southern  exposure?  " 

"  Yes,  Madam,  it's  at  the  end  of  the 
hall." 


70  JOHN    HENRY 

"  I  want  a  room  near  the  elevator, 
that's  always  the  way  in  these  hotels! 
One  can  never  get  just  what  one 
wants !  At  the  end  of  the  hall,  in 
deed  !  "  And  with  this  she  gave  Steve 
the  Society  sting  with  both  eyes  and 
flounced  out. 

Steve  bit  the  end  off  a  pen  holder 
and  said  the  rest  internally. 

Just  then  a  couple  of  troupers 
trailed  in. 

They  were  with  the  "  Bandit's  Bride 
Co.,"  and  the  way  had  been  long  and 
weary. 

"  What  have  you  got — double  ?  " 
asked  the  villain  of  the  piece. 

"  Two  dollars  and  up !  "  said  Steve. 

"Nothing  better?"  inquired  Low 
Comedy — he  was  making  a  crack  but 
nobody  caught  him. 


AND    THE    HOTEL    CLERK  71 

"  Four  dollars,  with  bath,"  Steve 
suggested. 

"  Board  ?  "  asked  the  villain. 

"  Nothing  but  the  sleeps  and  a  fresh 
cake  of  soap,"  said  Steve. 

"  Ring  down !  "  Low  Comedy  put 
in ;  "  Why,  we  lived  a  whole  week  in 
Pittsburg  for  less  than  that." 

"  You  can  turn  the  same  trick  here 
if  you  carry  your  own  coke  and  sleep 
in  the  Park,"  said  Steve. 

"  What's  the  name  of  this  mint  ?  " 
asked  the  villain. 

Steve  told  him. 

"  To  the  tow-path !  "  said  Barrett 
Macready ;  "  we're  outside  the  life 
lines.  We  thought  it  was  the  Liver- 
wurst  Hotel  where  they  throw  things 
at  your  appetite  for  $i  a  day,  double. 
To  the  left,  wheel !  Forward,  march  !" 


72  JOHN    HENRY 

and  once  more  the  drama  was  on  its 
way. 

As  Low  Comedy  turned  proudly  on 
his  heel  he  threw  upon  the  counter 
a  printed  card. 

Steve  had  it  framed  and  glued  to  the 
wall  next  day. 

It  read  as  follows. 


HOTEL    RULES— HELP    YOURSELF. 

RULE  I. — We  cash  no  checks  drawn  on 
Papa.  He's  a  dead  one. 

RULE  2. — Eat  all  our  booze  you  want  to, 
but  go  elsewhere  and  select  your  snakes. 

RULE  3. — Don't  call  the  waitress  by  her 
first  name.  She's  liable  to  spoil  your  appe 
tite. 

RULE  4. — Guests  who  desire  to  have 
nightmare  will  find  the  harness  in  the 
restaurant,  so  back  up ! 


AND   THE  HOTEL  CLERK  73 

RULE  5. — To  prevent  guests  from  carry 
ing  fruit  from  the  table  we'll  have  no  fruit. 
We're  lucky  to  have  the  table. 

RULE  6. — If  you  feel  tired,  go  away  back 
and  sit  down. 

RULE  7. — In  case  of  fire  jump  out  the 
window  and  turn  to  the  left. 

RULE  8. — Breakfast  from  4  to  3;  dinner 
from  hand  to  mouth,  and  supper  from 
what's  left  over. 

RULE  9. — Hug  as  many  high-balls  as  you 
please,  but  don't  wave  the  red  flag  in  the 
office — you  might  disturb  Harold  Spot- 
wood,  the  room  clerk.  He  was  out  late  last 
night. 

RULE  10. — If  you  don't  like  your  room, 
kick  the  bell-boy.  Apply  at  the  office  for 
spiked  shoes. 

RULE  ii. — If  you  don't  see  what  you 
want  ask  for  it  and  you'll  get  it — good  and 
hard! 

RULE  12. — Ask  the  bar-keeper  to  let  you 
have  one  of  our  justly  celebrated  high 
tides.  It  will  do  you  good. 


74  JOHN   HENRY 

RULE  13. — Try  our  boneless  potato  salad; 
apply  to  the  night  watchman. 

RULE  14. — All  the  shines  are  not  in  the 
barber  shop.     Lie  down,  Fido. 

RULE   15. — That  will  be  about  all   from 
you. 


JOHN  HENRY 
AND  THE  BENZINE  BUGGY. 


JOHN  HENRY  AND  THE  BEN 
ZINE  BUGGY. 

ACROSS-COUNTRY      dub 
named   Montrose   has   been 
doing    the    Shine    specialty 
around  Clara  Jane  lately. 

He  began  to  call  evenings  and 
bring  a  bunch  of  ready-grown  flowers 
with  him  as  big  as  a  hay  stack. 

Then  he'd  spread  around  the  parlor 
and  tell  her  how  he  won  the  long-dis 
tance  running  jump  in  the  '01  Yale 
class. 

As  you  approached  him   from  the 


78  JOHN   HENRY 

front  the  first  name  you  saw  was  Clar 
ence — Clarence  Edgerton  Montrose. 

Wouldn't  that  slap  you ! 

I  don't  think  Clara  Jane  considered 
him  the  real  kittens,  but  he  could  talk 
fast  and  use  long  words  and  she  found 
him  pleasant  company. 

She  said  she  loved  to  sit  and  shade 
her  eyes  with  the  $8  fan  I  gave  her 
and  listen  to  Clarence  Edgerton  Mont- 
rose  while  he  discoursed  about  Pales 
tine  and  the  Holy  Land. 

If  he  was  ever  there  he  went  in  a 
hack. 

That's  the  trouble  with  some  of 
those  college  come-outs!  The  Pro 
fessors  beat  them  over  the  head  with 
a  geography  and  then  as  soon  as  they 
get  a  crowd  around  they  begin  to  go 


AND    THE    BENZINE    BUGGY  79 

to  the  places  that  struck  them  hard 
est. 

As  an  honest,  hard-working  man  it 
was  my  duty  to  put  the  boots  to  Ed- 
gerton  and  run  him  down  the  lane  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  see. 

So  I  framed  up  Clarence's  finish 
with  much  attention  to  detail. 

I  looked  over  Clara  Jane's  dates 
ahead  and  found  that  Clarence  had 
rented  the  house  for  a  Wednesday 
matinee,  so  I  hired  one  of  those  horse 
less  carriage  things  and  pulled  up  in 
front  of  the  windows  just  about  the 
time  I  thought  His  Feathers  would 
be  playing  the  overture. 

I  knew  that  Clara  Jane  would  can 
cel  the  contract  with  the  mutt  that 
mixed  in  just  as  soon  as  she  saw  the 
automobile  snap. 


8o  JOHN    HENRY 

I  figured  that  the  picture  entitled 
"The  True  Lover's  Departure  in  the 
Dream  Wagon  "  would  put  a  crimp  in 
Clarence  about  the  size  of  a  barn  door. 

It  was  my  third  or  fourth  time  be 
hind  the  lever  of  the  busy  barouche, 
but  I  was  wise  that  you  pulled  the 
plug  this  way  when  you  wanted  it  to 
go  ahead,  and  you  shoved  it  back  when 
you  wanted  it  to  stop. 

When  it  came  to  benzine  buggies 
I  felt  that  my  education  was  complete. 

I  was  George  Gazazza,  the  real  Ro 
lando,  when  I  pulled  up  in  front  of 
my  lady  friend's  front  gate. 

My  market  price  was  $18,000  a 
square  inch. 

In  six  minutes  by  the  watch  Clara 
Jane  was  down  and  in  the  kerosene 
caravan. 


For  a  chaser  she  wore  one  of 
those  feather  boas." — Page  81. 


AND    THE    BENZINE    BUGGY  8 1 

Clarence  hadn't  arrived. 

Somebody  must  have  put  him  next, 
but  I  knew  where  he  lived  and  I  fig 
ured  it  out  that  after  we  came  back 
from  Lonely  Lane  I'd  send  the  landau 
around  and  around  the  block  he 
camped  in  till  I  made  him  dizzy. 

Clara  Jane  was  the  feature  of  the 
game.  * 

She  was  the  limit  in  ladies'  dress 
goods. 

For  a  chaser  she  wore  one  of  those 
feather  boas  that  feel  cool  because 
they  look  so  warm. 

Well,  I  turned  the  horseless  gag  into 
the  shell  road  and  cut  loose. 

We  were  doing  about  43  miles  an 
hour  and  the  birdies  were  singing  on 
the  way. 

Clarence   Edgerton    Montrose    was 


82  JOHN   HENRY 

working  in  Shaft  No.  3,  back  in  the 
mines — my  lady  friend  told  me  so. 

She  was  having  the  time  of  her  life. 

I  was  her  candy  boy  for  sure. 

Just  then  something  snapped  and 
the  machine  started  for  Portland, 
Maine,  on  the  basis  of  a  mile  in  eight 
seconds. 

Clara  Jane  grabbed  me  around  the 
neck  and  I  grabbed  the  lever. 

"  The  eccentric  has  buckled  the 
thingamajig!  "  I  yelled,  pushing  the 
lever  over  to  stop  the  carryall. 

The  thing  gave  me  the  horse  laugh, 
jumped  over  a  telegraph  pole,  bit  its 
way  through  a  barb-wire  fence  and 
then  started  down  the  road  at  the  rate 
of  2,000,000  miles  a  minute. 

"  Why  don't  you  stop  it  ?  "  screamed 
my  lady  friend. 


AND   THE   BENZINE   BUGGY  83 

"I'll  be  the  goat;  what's  the  an 
swer  ? "  I  said,  clawing  the  lever  and 
ducking  the  low  bridges. 

We  met  a  man  on  a  bicycle  and  the 
last  I  saw  of  him  as  we  whizzed  by  he 
had  found  a  soft  spot  in  a  field  about 
four  blocks  away  and  he  was  going 
into  it  head  first. 

We  kept  his  bicycle  and  carried  it 
along  on  our  smoke  stack. 

I  couldn't  stop  the  thing  to  save 
my  life. 

Every  time  I  yanked  the  lever  the 
snap  would  let  a  chortle  out  of  it's 
puzzle  department  and  fly  400  feet 
straight  through  the  air. 

We  were  headed  for  an  old  ash 
heap,  and  my  market  price  had  gone 
down  to  three  cents  a  ton. 

"  Don't  jump !  "  I  yelled  to  my  lady 


84  JOHN   HENRY 

friend,  but  the  wind  whisked  the  first 
half  of  my  sentence  away. 

Clara  Jane  gathered  her  skirts  in 
a  bunch  and  did  a  flying  leap  out  of 
the  crazy  cab. 

She  landed  right  in  the  middle  of 
that  heap  of  fresh  ashes — and  she 
made  good. 

All  I  could  see  was  a  great,  gray 
cloud  as  I  pushed  on  to  the  next  stand. 

About  half  a  mile  further  down  the 
road  the  machine  concluded  to  turn 
into  a  farm-yard  and  give  the  home 
folks  a  treat. 

It  went  through  a  window  in  the 
barn,  out  through  a  skylight,  did  the 
hula  dance  over  the  lawn,  and  then  fell 
in  the  well  and  stayed  there,  panting 
as  though  its  little  gas-engine  heart 
would  break. 


AND   THE   BENZINE   BUGGY  85 

When  I  limped  back  to  Clara  Jane 
the  storm  signals  were  flying. 

She  was  away  out  on  the  ice. 

The  feather  boa  looked  like  the  haw 
ser  on  a  canal  boat,  and  the  ashes  had 
changed  the  pattern  of  her  dress  goods. 

We  were  stingy  talkers  on  the  road 
home. 

It  will  take  me  two  years  to  square 
myself. 

Hereafter,  me  to  the  trolley ! 

Me  to  the  saucy  stage  coach  when 
I'm  due  to  gallop  away  and  away ! 

No  more  benzine  buggies  for  yours 
sincerely ! 

Never  again  for  the  bughouse  bar 
ouche  !  Not  me. 

I  have  only  one  consolation:  The 
chap  we  pried  off  the  bicycle  was  Clar 
ence  Edgerton  Montrose. 


86  JOHN    HENRY 

It  will  take  him  about  three  years 
and  two  months  to  find  all  the  spots 
that  foolish-wagon  knocked  off  him. 

Meantime,  I  hope  to  be  Clara 
Jane's  sugar  buyer  again. 


JOHN    HENRY 
AT    THE    MUSICALE. 


JOHN  HENRY  AT  THE 
MUSICALE. 

DID  you  ever  get  ready  and  go 
to  a  musicalef 
Isn't  it  the  velvet  goods? 
They  pulled  off  one  at  Jack  Froth- 
ingham's  last  Wednesday  evening  and 
I  had  to  walk  up  and  down  the  aisle 
with  the  rest  of  the  bunch. 

Mind  you,  I  like  Jack,  so  this  is  no 
secret  conclave  of  the  Anvil  Associa 
tion. 

Only,  I  wish  to  put  him  wise  that 
when  he  gives  his  next  musicale  my 


90  JOHN    HENRY 

address  is  Forest  Avenue,  in  the 
woods. 

When  I  reached  Jack's  house  the 
Burnish  Brothers  were  grabbing 
groutchy  music  out  of  a  guitar  that 
didn't  want  to  give  up,  and  the  mad 
revel  was  on. 

The  Burnish  Brothers  part  their 
hair  in  the  middle  and  always  do  "  The 
Washington  Post "  march  on  their 
mandolins  for  an  encore. 

If  Mr.  Sousa  ever  catches  them 
there'll  be  a  couple  of  shine  chord- 
squeezers  away  to  the  bad. 

When  the  Burnish  Brothers  took  a 
bow  and  backed  off  we  were  all  in 
vited  to  listen  to  a  soprano  solo  by 
Miss  Imogene  Lukewarm. 

Somebody  went  around  and  locked 


AT   THE   MUSICALE  91 

the  doors,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  to 
die  game. 

A  foolish  friend  once  told  Imogene 
she  could  sing,  so  she  went  out  and 
bought  up  a  bunch  of  tra-la-la's  and 
began  to  beat  them  around  the  parlor. 

When  Imogene  sings  she  makes 
faces  at  herself. 

If  she  needs  a  high  note  she  goes 
after  like  she  was  calling  the  dach 
shund  in  to  dinner. 

Imogene  sang  "  Sleep,  Sweetly 
Sleep,"  and  then  kept  us  awake  with 
her  voice. 

After  Imogene  crept  back  to  her 
cave  we  had  the  first  treat  of  the  even 
ing,  and  the  shock  was  so  sudden  it 
jarred  us. 

Uncle  Mil  came  out  and  quivered  a 
violin  obligato  entitled  "  The  Lost 


92  JOHN    HENRY 

Sheep  in  the  Mountain,"  and  it  was 
all  there  is. 

Uncle  Mil  was  the  only  green  spot 
in  the  desert. 

When  he  gathered  the  gourd  up  un 
der  his  chin  and  allowed  the  bow  to 
tiptoe  over  the  bridge  you  could  hear 
the  nightingale  calling  to  its  mate. 

I  wanted  to  get  up  a  petition  asking 
Uncle  Mil  to  play  all  the  evening  and 
make  us  all  happy,  but  Will  Bruce 
wouldn't  let  me. 

Will  said  he  wasn't  feeling  very  well 
and  he  wanted  to  hear  the  rest  of  the 
program  and  feel  worse. 

He  got  his  wish. 

The  next  thing  we  had  was  Sybil, 
the  Illusionist. 

Sybil  did  a  lot  of  mouldy  tricks  with 
cards  and  every  few  minutes  she  fell 


He  gathered  the  gourd  up 
under  his  chin." — Page  92. 


AT   THE     MUSICALE  93 

down  and  sprained  her  sleight  of 
hand. 

Sybil  was  a  polish  for  sure. 

Then  Swift  McGee,  the  Boy  Mono- 
loguist,  flung  himself  in  the  breach 
and  told  a  bunch  of  Bixbys. 

It  was  a  cruel  occasion. 

Swift  had  an  idea  that  when  it  came 
to  cracking  merry  booboos  he  could 
pull  Lew  Dockstader  off  the  horse  and 
leave  him  under  the  fence. 

As  a  monologuist  Swift  thought  he 
had  George  Fuller  Golden  half  way 
across  the  bay,  and  Fred  Niblo  was 
screaming  for  help. 

Swift  often  told  himself  that  he 
could  give  Marshall  P.  Wilder  six 
sure-fires  and  beat  him  down  to  the 
wire. 

Swift  is  one  of  those  low-foreheads 


94  JOHN    HENRY 

who  "  write  their  own  stuff  "  and  say 
"  I  done  it !  " 

After  Swift  had  talked  the  audience 
into  a  chill,  he  pushed  on  and  left  us 
with  a  stone  bruise  on  our  memories. 

Then  we  had  Rufus  Nelson,  the 
parlor  prestidigitator. 

Rufus  was  a  bad  boy. 

He  cooked  an  omelet  in  a  silk  hat 
and  when  he  gave  the  hat  back  to  Ed. 
Walker  the  poached  eggs  fell  out  and 
cuddled  up  in  Ed's  hair. 

Rufus  apologized  and  said  he'd  do 
the  trick  over  again  if  someone  else 
would  lend  him  a  hat,  but  there  was 
nothing  doing. 

When  the  contralto  crawled  under 
the  ropes  and  began  to  tell  us  that  the 
bells  in  the  village  rang  ding-ding- 


AT   THE  MUSICALE  95 

dong  I  was  busy  watching  a  Goo-goo 
Bird. 

Did  you  ever  spot  one  of  those 
Glance-Givers  ? 

This  chap's  name  was  Llewellyn 
Joyce,  and  he  considered  himself  a 
perfect  hellyon. 

He  thought  all  he  had  to  do  was  to 
roll  his  lamps  at  a  lassie  and  she  was 
off  the  slate. 

Llewellyn  loved  to  sit  around  at  the 
musicale  and  burn  the  belle  of  the 
ball  with  his  goo-goo  eyes. 

Llewellyn  needed  a  swift  slap — 
that's  what  he  needed. 

Next  we  had  the  Nonpariel  Quar 
tette,  and  they  were  the  boys  that  could 
eat  up  the  close  harmony ! 

They  sang  "  Love,  I  am  Lonely !  " 


$6  JOHN    HENRY 

from  start  to  finish  without  stopping 
to  call  the  waiter. 

Then  we  had  Clarissa  Coldslaw  in 
select  recitations. 

She  was  all  the  money. 

Clarissa  grabbed  "  Hamlet's  Solilo 
quy  "  between  her  pearly  teeth  and 
shook  it  to  death. 

She  got  a  half-Nelson  on  Poe's  "Ra 
ven  "  and  put  it  out  of  the  business. 

Then  she  gave  an  imitation  of  the 
balcony  scene  from  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

If  Juliet  talked  like  that  dame  did, 
no  wonder  she  took  poison. 

But  when  she  let  down  her  hair  and 
started  in  to  give  us  a  mad  scene — 
me  to  the  sand  dunes ! 

It  was  a  case  of  flee  as  a  bird  with 
yours  respectfully. 

Those  musicals  things  would  be  aces 
if  the  music  didji't  set  them  back. 


JOHN    HENRY    ON    GOLF 


JOHN  HENRY  ON  GOLF. 

EREAFTER     golf     is     the 
game  for  Gillis ! 

Me   for  the  niblick   and 
the  brassie — fine ! 

Billy  Baldwin,  Harry  Ford  and  Ed 
die  Bartlett  took  me  out  last  summer 
and  put  me  wise  to  the  whole  lay-out. 
In  less  than  an  hour  I  could  play 
the  game  better  than  Doolan,  and  he's 
the  man  that  made  it. 

Golf  has  all  the  other  games  slapped 
to  a  sit-down. 

I  know  it  because  I  played  it  once 
and  Billy  told  me  that  as  soon  as  a 


IOO  JOHN    HENRY 

few  Scotch  thistles  sprouted  on  my 
shins  I'd  be  the  real  rinakaboo! 

Harry  told  me  I  could  drive  good 
enough  to  own  a  hack,  and  Eddie 
thought  I  was  the  likeliest  side-stepper 
that  ever  did  a  grass-chopping  special 
ty. 

The  only  drawback  they  found  was 
that  I  didn't  hit  the  ball. 

It's  immense  for  the  chest  measure 
ment  to  have  the  bunch  hand  you  out 
the  salve  spiel — believe  me! 

I  took  my  lady  friend  out  Westches- 
ter  way  last  week  and  on  the  road  I 
was  Reckless  Robert  with  the  big 
talk. 

It's  a  habit  with  me  to  go  up  and 
butt  the  ceiling  every  time  my  lady 
friend  is  near  enough  to  listen. 

Most  of  us  young  guys  are  gushers 


ON    GOLF  101 

with  the  loud  language  when  the  Best 
and  Only  is  in  the  building. 

How  we  do  like  to  gather  the  gab 
and  hand  out  hints  to  the  heroine  that 
she's  gating  on  the  greatest  ever ! 

When  Clara  Jane  asked  me  if  I 
knew  the  game  I  told  her  that  I  used 
to  room  with  the  man  that  built  the 
first  links. 

When  she  asked  me  his  name  I  told 
her  it  was  McDougall,  because  that's 
the  name  of  a  head-waiter  who  helps 
to  spend  my  money. 

She  asked  me  if  I  knew  what  a 
lofter  is  and  I  said,  "  Sure,  I  eat  them 
for  breakfast  every  morning !  " 

When  we  reached  Westchester  we 
met  a  Society  duck  named  Lionel  von 
Hamburg. 


102  JOHN    HENRY 

I  think  his  father  invented  the  Ham 
burger  steak. 

Lionel  was  all  to  the  best. 

He  was  Finnegan  the  Fine  Boy,  for 
sure. 

One  of  those  tart  little  red  coats 
squeezed  his  shape,  and  around  his 
neck  he  had  a  pink  stock  that  was 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  choke  him. 

My  lady  friend  met  this  gilly  once 
at  a  bean  soiree  and  she  was  his  even 
ing  star. 

They  sat  on  the  stairs  together  and 
put  a  kink  in  the  caramels. 

When  the  gong  sounded  for  the  ice 
cream  that  night  Lionel  had  dipped 
her  out  a  tubful,  and  he  was  sure  she 
liked  him  for  his  boyish  ways. 

So  on  this  occasion  it  was  Lionel's 


ON    GOLF  103 

play  to  give  me  the  low  tackle  and 
claim  the  calico. 

But  I'm  something  of  a  Mr.  Fox 
myself  on  rare  occasions,  and  I 
couldn't  see  Lionel  doing  a  two-step 
through  the  farm  lands  with  my  Es- 
meralda — not  through  the  opera 
glasses. 

Clara  Jane  introduced  me  to  His 
Pinkness  and  he  invited  us  in  the  club 
house  to  throttle  our  thirsts. 

I  ordered  a  rickey,  Clara  Jane  called 
for  a  lemonade,  and  Lionel's  guess 
was  a  pail  of  Vichy  and  milk. 

When  the  suds  rolled  up  I  gave  the 
Vichy  stuff  the  sad  eye  and  Lionel 
caught  the  gaze. 

I  could  see  that  he  wanted  to  back 
pedal  right  then,  but  he  waited  until 


104  JOHN    HENRY 

the  next  round  and  then  he  waded  out 
among  the  high  boys. 

It  was  the  bluff  of  his  life. 

His  limit  on  bug  bitters  was  im 
ported  ginger  ale  with  a  piece  of  lime 
in  it. 

When  he  was  out  roystering  and 
didn't  care  what  became  of  him  he 
would  tell  the  bartender  to  add  a  dash 
of  phosphates. 

But  now  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
splash  around  in  the  tide  waters  just 
because  the  lady  was  looking  on. 

Lionel  felt  that  the  future  was  at 
stake  and  he  must  cut  out  the  saw-dust 
extracts  and  get  busy  with  the  grown 
up  booze. 

After  the  first  high  ball  Lionel  be 
gan  to  chatter  and  mention  money. 

The   mocking   birds    were    singing 


ON   GOLF  105 

down  on  the  old  bayou,  and  he  began 
to  give  Clara  Jane  the  loving  leer. 

She  grew  a  bit  uneasy  and  wanted 
to  start  the  paddle  wheels,  but  I  sig 
nalled  to  the  waiter  because  I  wished 
her  to  see  her  Society  slob  at  his  best. 

At  first  he  insisted  upon  dragging 
out  a  basket  of  Ruinart,  and  he  wanted 
to  order  rubber  boots  so  we  could  slosh 
around  in  it. 

But  I  steered  him  off  and  he  went  all 
the  way  up  the  hill  and  picked  out 
another  high  fellow. 

When  the  second  high  was  under 
cover  he  reached  over  and  patted  Clara 
Jane  on  the  hand. 

He  wanted  to  lead  her  away  to  Paris 
and  show  her  everything  that  money 
could  buy. 

When  she  gave  him  the  "Sir!"  gag 


Io6  JOHN    HENRY 

he  apologized  and  said  he  didn't  mean 
Paris,  he  meant  the  Pan-American. 

Then  he  smiled  feverishly  and 
opened  a  package  of  hiccoughs. 

When  Clara  Jane  and  I  moved  out 
on  the  links  Lionel  was  watching  the 
floor  and  trying  to  pick  out  a  spot 
that  didn't  go  'round  and  'round. 

His  chips  were  all  in  and  he  was 
Simon  with  the  Souse,  for  sure. 

Clara  Jane  said,  "  What  a  ridiculous 
person !  "  but  what  she  meant  was,  that 
that  would  be  about  all  from  Lionel. 

Then  we  chartered  a  couple  of  cad 
die  boys  and  started  in  to  render  a  few 
choice  selections  on  the  clubs. 

My  caddie  boy's  name  was  Mike, 
and  he  looked  the  part. 

The  first  crack  out  of  the  box  I  lost 


ON   GOLF  107 

my  ball  and  Mike  found  it  under  his 
left  eye. 

I  gave  him  a  quarter  to  square  my 
self  and  he  said  I  could  hit  him  on 
the  other  eye  for  ten  cents  more. 

I  made  the  first  hole  in  26,  and  feu 
that  there  was  nothing  more  to  live 
for. 

Clara  Jane  could  have  made  it  in 
84,  but  she  used  up  her  nerve  watch 
ing  a  cow  in  the  lot  about  two  miles 
away. 

My  lady  friend  is  a  quitter  when  it 
comes  to  cows. 

Then  we  decided  to  stop  playing  and 
walk  around  the  links  just  so  we  could 
say  that  we  had  seen  most  of  the 
United  States  of  America. 

Out  near  the  Fifth  hole  we  met 
young  Mil  Roberts  and  Frank  Jenvey. 


108  JOHN    HENRY 

They  were  playing  a  match  for  60 
cents  a  side  and  they  were  two  busy 
boys,  all  right,  all  right. 

Mil  had  his  sleeves  rolled  up  to  show 
the  mosquito  bites  on  his  muscles,  and 
Frank  was  telling  himself  how  he 
missed  the  last  bunker. 

I  asked  Mil  what  time  it  was  and 
he  told  me,  "Three  up  and  four  to 
play!" 

I  suppose  that  was  Central  time. 

I  handed  Frank  a  few  bars  of  polite 
conversation  but  he  gave  me  the  Frost- 
burg  face. 

Did  you  ever  have  one  of  those  real 
players  pass  you  out  the  golfish  glare  ? 

You  for  the  snowstorm  when  you 
get  it — believe  me ! 

Then  Mil  and  Frank  dove  in  the 
mudcan,  cooked  a  pill,  placed  the  ball 


Jake  invited  her  to  join  the 
hunting  party." — Page  109. 


ON    GOLF  109 

on  it,  slapped  it  in  the  slats,  gave  us 
the  dreary  day-day  and  were  on  their 
way. 

It  must  be  awful  to  play  for  money. 

At  the  Seventh  hole  we  found  Jake 
Roberts  ploughing  the  side  of  a  hill 
with  his  niblick. 

He  said  he  lost  a  ball  there  one  day 
last  summer  and  he  wanted  it  back 
because  it  belonged  to  a  set. 

Jake  said  he  went  to  Three  in  four 
with  that  ball  once,  but  the  folks 
wouldn't  believe  him  till  he  showed 
them  the  ball. 

When  I  introduced  him  to  Clara 
Jane  he  invited  her  to  join  the  hunting 
party,  and  intimated  that  I'd  enjoy 
the  new  mown  scenery  further  down 
the  line. 

I  whip-sawed  him  with  a  whistling 


IIO  JOHN    HENRY 

specialty  entitled,  "Why  Dcn't  You 
Get  a  Lady  of  Your  Own  ?  "  and  he 
promised  to  be  good. 

After  we  trailed  over  the  mountains, 
through  seven  farms,  across  three 
rivers,  up  the  valley  and  down  the 
railroad,  we  finally  reached  the  end  of 
the  links  and  took  the  steamer  back 
to  mother. 

Clara  Jane  says  golf  would  be  a 
great  game  if  it  wasn't  so  far  from 
home. 

Yours  till  the  bench  breaks — believe 
me! 

JOHN  HENRY 


JOHN  HENRY,  Hugh  McHugh's 
first  book,  reached  the  25,000 
mark  two  weeks  after  it  was 
published.  It's  popularity  since 
then  has  been  unprecedented. 

"  John  Henry's  philosophy  is  of  the  most 
approved  up-to-date  brand.  He  is  by  all 
odds  a  young  man  of  the  period ;  he  is  a 
man  about  town.  He  is  a  slang  artist;  a 
painter  of  recherche  phrases ;  a  maker  of 
tart  Americanisms. 

In  this  book — it  is  "little,  but  oh  my !" — 
John  Henry  recounts  some  of  his  adven 
tures  about  town,  and  he  interlards  his  des 
criptive  passages  with  impressive  comments 
on  the  men,  women,  institutions,  and  places, 
brought  within  his  observant  notice.  We 
need  not  say  that  his  comments  are  highly- 
colored  ;  nor  that  his  descriptions  are  re 
markable  for  expressiveness  and  colloquial 
piquancy.  Mr.  Henrv  is  a  sort  of  refined 
and  sublimated  type  of  ''Chimmie  Fadden," 
though  there  is  by  no  means  anything  of  the 
gamin  about  him.  He  doesn't  speak  in  rich 
coster  dialect  such  as  is  used  by  Mr.  Town- 
send's  famous  character,  nor  is  he  a  mem- 
Ill 


her  of  the  same  social  set  as  the  popular 
hero  of  the  New  York  slums.  Mr.  Henry 
moves  on  a  higher  plane,  he  uses  good 
English — mostly  in  tart  superlatives — and 
his  associates  are  of  a  high  social  scale. 

Mr.  Henry's  adventures  as  he  describes 
them  here  will  make  you  wonder  and  make 
you  laugh. 

His  book  abounds  in  bon-mots  of  slang; 
of  the  kind  you  hear  in  the  theatres  when 
the  end-men,  comedians  and  monologuists 
are  at  their  wittiest  and  best,  when  they 
revel  in  mad  and  merry  extravagances  of 
speech  and  experience. 

It  is  an  art  to  use  street-talk  with  force 
and  terseness,  and  although  it  isn't  the  most 
elegant  phase  of  the  Queen's  English  it 
nevertheless  impresses  to  the  Queen's  taste. 
Hugh  McHugh  has  this  art."— Philadelphia 
Item. 

"  John  Henry  "  is  only  one  of  the  numer 
ous  young  men  who  are  treating  the  public 
to  the  latest  slang  through  the  medium  of 
print  nowadays,  but  he,  unlike  most  of  the 
others,  is  original  in  his  phrases,  has  the 
strong  support  of  the  unexpected  in  his  hu 
mor  and  causes  many  a  good  laugh.  For 
one  thing,  he  merely  tries  to  make  fun, 
wisely  avoiding  the  dangers  of  tediousness 
112 


in  endeavoring  to  utter  immature  wisdom  in 
the  language  of  the  brainless. 

"  The  author,  Huph  McHugh,  is  thought 
to  be  Mr.  George  V.  Hobart.  Certain  it  is 
that  the  writer  is  a  Baltimorean,  past  or 
present;  the  local  references  evidence  that. 
In  some  places  the  expressions  have  the 
Hobart  ring  to  them.  But  if  Mr.  Hobart 
did  write  the  stories,  he  has  done  his  best 
work  of  the  kind  yet." — Baltimore  Herald. 

"  The  humor  is  of  the  spontaneous  sort 
that  runs  close  to  truth,  and  it  affords  many 
a  hearty  laugh." — Cleveland  World. 

"  As  a  study  in  slang  it  surpasses  any 
thing  since  the  days  of  '  Artie.'  " — The 
Rocky  Mountain  News. 

"  Written  in  the  choicest  slang." — Detroit 
Free  Press. 

"  John  Henry."  A  regular  side-splitter, 
and  as  good  as  "  Billy  Baxter." — New  York 
Press. 

"  It  is  as  good  as  any  of  the  books  of  its 
kind,  better  than  most  of  them,  and  is 
funny  without  being  coarse." — Portage 
Register. 

113 


"  John  Henry  is  an  amusing  malefactor, 
and  those  who  care  to  forgive  him  for  cob 
bling  the  English  language  into  strange 
shapes  will  enjoy  their  acquaintance  with 
him." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  John  Henry  is  very  interesting  and 
amusing." — St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 

"  There  are  seven  sketches,  and  each 
seems  funnier  than  the  others." — Book 
seller,  Newsdealer  and  Stationer. 

"  The  book  is  a  clever  satire  on  some  of 
the  foolishness  in  modern  society,  and  the 
slang  is  simply  unapproachable. — Los  An 
geles  Herald. 

"  Every  page  is  as  catchy  as  a  bar  from 
a  popular  song. 

"  The  slang  is  as  correct,  original  and 
smart  as  the  newest  handshake  from  Lon 
don. 

"  In  the  lottery  of  humorous  books  '  John 
Henry '  seems  to  approximate  the  capital 
prize." — The  New  York  Journal. 


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